


In the Garden, Among the Flowers

by writinginthedust



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:02:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinginthedust/pseuds/writinginthedust
Summary: Morrigan has some news to share with Cassian but she can't find him anywhere. Her powers lead her to the Night Court gardens and a surprise encounter with Elain which opens her eyes to someone else's news...
Relationships: Morrigan (ACoTaR)/Original Character(s), Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	In the Garden, Among the Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been forever since I've written anything and this is rusty as heck but am trying to get back into it!

To a casual observer, Mor looked as fresh faced and glowing that morning as she did on every other.

If anyone heard about the events of the prior evening, and the levels of drinking, dancing and debauchery which had occurred, they would think it was the good fortune of Mor being high fae which kept her so bright.

Other's would think it the good fortune of being The Morrigan, a being whose vibrant personality and magic somehow exuded through her skin to wash away any trace of shadow or fatigue. At least, Mor thought to herself, that's what she believed others thought.

Those who loved her well would understand the glow she bathed in wasn't some higher fae power. They would work out what happened last night, note her satisfied smile and keep their comments to themselves.

Of course, life always contained an exception.

The prospect of early morning training must have beckoned him like a siren's call as that 'exception' had been absent from the house earlier than usual. Although Mor would roll her eyes at whatever spilled from Cassian's mouth, she welcomed his good-natured teasing.

The sun had barely risen when she bounded into his chambers as giddy as a small child, only to find them empty and his bed already made. Not wanting to disturb his training Mor decided to patiently wait in his rooms for his return.

While Mor never provided details to the rest of the Inner Circle she was nothing but honest with Cassian about when she took a lover. Her openness wasn't, as she once worried, done out of some strange obligation to their shared history but borne from a desperate need to share every element of her life with those she loved the most.

Despite his permanently laughing eyes and cocky grin, Mor trusted if she placed her very heart in Cassian's hands, he would shield it with his life.

Her plan had been to slide into his bed as she had done on many a morning and rest her head on the pillow beside his. The tradition was for Mor to wake him and tell the tales of her night-time escapades, their laughter filling the room as she relayed the expected nonsense.

Mor never worried about finding guests in his bed. Although the years had gifted her with the scent of other females on his sheets they were always gone by sunrise. Cassian made sure of it. The night may have been the dominion of nameless females she would never meet, but the mornings belonged to her.

It was more important than ever to find him this particular morning. Mor knew, as she would always know, Cassian above all others would share in her joy.

A fae named Aurielle had graced Mor's bed and it was as though the Mother herself had placed her in Mor's path.

Aurielle's eyes were bluer than any sky Mor had seen and the freckles which dusted the bridge of her nose were also painted across her shoulders. As the night progressed and the silks slid down, Mor discovered those glorious freckles in more places still.  
Something of significance existed between them. Not Cauldron blessed but it felt sacred - a link which meant a promise and a promise Mor wanted to honour as it should be honoured.

Cassian had spent decades of time over the centuries reassuring Mor she was deserving of love, unwavering in his belief she would find someone. So it wasn't only excitement which made her want to tell Cassian before anyone else. In a way she wanted to reward his faith, to tell him the romance she'd hoped for had finally happened on an unexpected summer's night when the air was hot.

But there was another reason why she wanted to seek Cassian out and that was more complicated than any other. She couldn't shake the feeling something between them had shifted.

Now, when she teased him about his lack of romance and dearth of female company, his smile was subdued. When she pointed out females in Velaris, beauties who would normally catch his attention, it was as though they were invisible.

There were times now when she joked with him about his sex life, or lack thereof, where he couldn't meet her eye. Concern begun to burrow its way through her chest.

So that was the other reason Mor needed to seek Cassian out to perform their 'morning after' ritual. It was a way to reassure herself nothing between them had changed. She craved Cassian's reassurance that her world, the one which had been built on solid ground, was not breaking.

Recently it crossed her mind to be less forthcoming with Cassian about her romantic life in the same way she was with Az. The truth shrieking in her soul was that Cassian, her fierce yet tender-hearted friend, was pining.

Perhaps he was lonely and longing for the connection they all sought. Perhaps the longing had opened up old wounds and now part of him ached for Mor as he had once long ago. Perhaps her newfound openness with the full truth of her heart was now breaking his.

With Aurielle, Mor had met someone she hoped would be in her life on a permanent basis and so she needed to resolve whatever this situation was. If she was right and Cassian still held an ember of romantic flame for her then she would sooth his wounded ego and commit to finding him a welcome distraction.

Mor knew it wouldn't be hard to find someone interested in him, the issue would be to find someone who turned his head on such a scale. Despite countless lovers who previously caught his attention no one seemed to hold the ability to keep it.

Sat on his sofa, worn and scratched from weaponry and wings, she let thoughts of Cassian fill her mind. Ordinarily her magic would have given her an image of him in the training ring, his skin brown and glistening, but instead she uncovered a picture of a different kind.

He wasn't training as she had thought. While this meant she was able to speak with him sooner, it was still a surprise the magic called her to the gardens. However, she was unable to still her patience, and that's where she decided to go.

In truth, the Inner Circle had never really cared for the gardens. Their locations of choice involved places far more exciting than anywhere containing trees and plants. Still, the gardens had always been well tended, anything derelict and unkempt did not befit a High Lord of Rhys' standing.

So, although they had always been cared for by servants, they had never been loved.

Until now.

This was her first time on the grounds in a long time and rows of flowers stretched towards the sun, their petals as golden as Mor's hair, bobbing in the light breeze as she walked down the path they adorned.

The path routed her to a smaller garden, one filled with planters bursting with vegetables and leafy herbs before weaving its way through a miniature meadow filled with pink and purple wildflowers. It meandered again to another section, this one with boxed hedges and a manicured lawn set out with the human game she recognised as croquet.

None of this had existed before and it was almost appealing enough for Mor to spend time here. Almost. She would still prefer dusky evenings at Rita's with a glass in hand over bright mornings among weeds.

And, she thought, so would Cassian. But the magic called her and when she came upon a courtyard which splintered into multiple paths, she chose the one singing his name the loudest.

She found him in what had become a vast rose garden.

Mor stumbled to a halt. The magic had sung Cassian's name but hadn't added anyone else's to the tune.

The central path was covered by arches and numerous hanging boughs. Roses in a variety of colours weaved around trellis' and draped down to kiss her hair. A plethora of fragrances flooded the air around her and the combination acted as a blanket, hiding both her appearance and her scent.

Beyond the path and dotted on the luscious green grass were more rose bushes than could be counted and amongst their dark leaves bloomed soft creams, pastel pinks and vibrant reds. None however, were as vibrant as the siphons gleaming up ahead.

If she'd stumbled upon Cassian at any other time and in any other place Mor would have loudly called out his name but here and at this moment, she was too stunned at what she was seeing to alert him to her presence.

In the garden, among the flowers, stood the famed Lord of Bloodshed. His head was bowed in deep conversation with another, the expression on his face one of such intensity Mor hadn't even in battle.

The sheer hulk of him combined with wings, siphons and black training leathers made him appear grotesquely out of place with the setting but what was more jarring was his appearance against his companion.

Now her, Mor expected to see.  
The love weaving its way around the garden had come from her fingers. Whether this was natural talent left over from her mortal days or something which bloomed, in every sense of the word, with her new fae blood Mor couldn't tell. There was no doubt however, the care for the gardens had come from the middle Archeron sister.

So no, it wasn't a surprise Elain was in what was considered 'Elain's gardens' but she never expected to see Elain and Cassian in them together. She also never expected to see them standing so close, speaking in tones so quiet even Mor's heightened hearing couldn't detect words.

Elain's golden-brown hair was tied loosely into a braid which draped down the front of her pale peach dress. Small white flowers had been strewn through adding to the innocent virgin look she continued to perpetuate.

A wretched unknown thing moved in Mor’s stomach.

This wasn't a pairing she'd ever considered, the one who brought death connected with the one who desperately maintained life. Mor never believed Cassian as wanting someone so gentle they were almost vacant.

In Mor's mind she expected Cassian would end up with someone like... well, someone like herself, with passion in their stomach and fight in their blood. But maybe she'd been wrong. Perhaps this was what he needed; someone soft and fragile to protect, someone pliable enough to exist with the Inner Circle without being intrusive.

Then, there was movement. Elain and Cassian were done with their conversation and Elain stood on her tip-toes, her face stretched up towards Cassian's before placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.

The something wretched moving in Mor's stomach twisted again.

Mor waited. The moment that was the cusp of their kiss lingered onwards except the kiss never came. At least, not the way she thought.

Elain pressed her lips to his cheek before smiling at him, one of reassurance, and as she rested her feet back on the ground, she gave Cassian an affectionate squeeze on the arm.

Mor's mouth dropped open. Whether this was better or worse than her initial assumption she didn't know. If it was longing for tender comfort on Cassian's part and a need to feel protected on Elain's she might have understood, but this platonic, familial interaction confused her.

Elain paused momentarily as she crossed the grass, her head slightly tilted to the side before she continued walking while Cassian wandered towards an over-flowing rose arch, his fingers idly trailing across petals.

Mor steeled herself to march over to him, to get her answers about why he was in the garden and most importantly what in the name of the Mother was he doing speaking so intently with Elain Archeron of all fae.

But, she didn't. She couldn't.

Something heavy in the air compelled her to observe, almost imploring her to view Cassian with clear eyes.

Centuries of time and love existed between them. They had seen the other at their best and worst and though it was only the once, there had been a time when Cassian's weight had pressed down upon her and she had greedily welcomed him into her body.

Mor knew every twitch his body made. He stood underneath the arch, leaves and petals brushing his hair, and she noted his guarded stance, the tightly tucked wings and the muscle flexing in his jaw. In the calmness of the garden, Cassian was anything other.

If Mor didn't know better she would have thought he was priming for battle. If Mor didn't know better than she would also have thought him nervous.

A sudden rustle sounded from behind her, of delicate silk sliding over soft skin and she turned to see Elain, an empty trug now swinging from her hand.

"Hello, Morrigan," Elain said, addressing her with the sweetest of smiles.

How had Elain crept up on her? Only a few, namely Rhys and Az, could appear without Mor noticing and Elain was neither High Lord nor spy. Still, Mor's voice was calm. "Hello, Elain."

"Will you walk with me?"

At her question Mor's eyebrows shot up. Of all interactions she had anticipated, being asked to go for a stroll around the gardens hadn't been one of them. Despite the honeyed tone with which Elain spoke, this was a request which invited no declination and so she found herself agreeing.

"Lovely. I have some roses on the other side of the garden I need to tend. Shall we?"

Mor stepped in beside her and walked through the arches toward the grass the other side of the path. She had never been this close to Elain before and while she knew Elain and Feyre shared many physical similarities she hadn't realised Elain's eyes were a deep chestnut. She also hadn't realised that Elain's skin was decorated with freckles, more so then Aurielle.

As a human Elain would have been considered pretty, but as a fae there was something about her which had been made into the other. What was once fair was now luminous, as though light had been poured into the female and, not being able to contain itself, had started to shine out.

No wonder, Mor thought, Lucien wanted to claim Elain as his mate. It was also no secret Az held a burgeoning fascination and, despite the friendliness of the interaction, there was now a possibility Cassian harboured his own desires.

Best then, Mor considered, to befriend Elain even if solely to understand her motives towards Mor's boys.

"I can almost grab your thoughts," Elain interrupted. "If I listened very carefully, I think I could pick them out."  
Mor narrowed her eyes. Rhys and Feyre alone held that power and though Elain had been gifted the abilities of a Seer it didn't mean she could actually dip into Mor's mind. Although, Mor countered, it was probably safer to bury them anyway.

"I don't think you'd want them."

"Perhaps not."

They ended up walking as far away from Cassian as possible, stopping only when they reached a collection of bushes with roses of gold and silver, a variety Mor had never seen.

"Here we are," Elain said, turning to her with another saccharine smile, "you can help if you'd like?"

There was nothing in the whole of Prythian she would rather do less but the thought lingering at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch away was that she wouldn't be allowed to leave. There is, it said, no escaping this one.

So, Mor found herself nodding along and Elain, placated by the response, set herself to her task.

The magic which had originally drawn Mor towards the garden, her own magic, had been muted, becoming as light and flimsy as a cloud. The opposite was happening to Mor and it was as though she had grown roots into the ground and would remain as immobile as the roses she stood beside.

Cassian, who she could still see across the garden, matched her. He was a rigid feature next to the rambling roses that couldn't quite hide him from her view.

Of the three fae in the garden Elain was the one who moved at pace.

Even though she had requested help, Mor was surplus to requirements. Elain hummed and cut her roses and with each snip, a brand-new golden rose, more fragrant than before, filled its space. The newly sliced stem was placed in the trug and Elain repeated this pattern.

The scent filling the air was heady. Elain didn't appear to be affected but Mor found the longer she breathed in the more her brain pounded like she'd spent a week drinking dark liquor.  
The perfume stung her nose and it drifted into her lungs, sharp and piercing, like she'd inhaled thorns. Mor wanted to step away to breath in fresh air but her feet refused to move.

"Is something wrong?" Elain asked.

Mor shook her head, her tongue too swollen for her to speak. A lie to Elain and denial to herself. There was always a possibility the middle Archeron had found a way to use magic to twist nature to her ends but was it deliberate? That the sweetest of the sisters had enough guile to bring Mor to this section of the garden and mute her magic.

Duplicitous little... but the thought cut off. No. Mor refused to believe she'd been out manoeuvred and out magicked by what was in essence a new-born fae. And a fae who wore daisies in her hair and pastel coloured dresses no less.

Besides, she considered, there was no reason for Elain to behave this way and no reason for Mor to be dragged away from Cassian.

But there was movement then, from the same place Mor had entered the garden. A figure walked through the very spot where Mor had stood and first watched Elain and Cassian. A figure stepped between the rose arches and on the grass towards its intended target.

If Mor had still waited at that spot then she she would have startled them off. If Mor was able to shake off the nature magic and get closer then she could have done something, but here she was, helpless. And now, slithering over to Cassian like he was her prey, came the worst Archeron.

"Sweet Mother," she managed to breath out. If Elain heard she said nothing and gave no indication of surprise at her older sister's presence in the garden.

Nesta, her golden-brown hair braided and bound around her head like she was a queen wearing a crown, marched closer to Cassian, her body rigid and face neutral.

Cassian's wings shuddered.

"Cauldron," Mor muttered, louder this time and she pushed with all her might to take a step forward. It was no good. Whatever held her there held firm and the sound of a blade slicing through stalks grew.

Nesta had reached Cassian underneath the trellis and they stood like opponents on a battlefield, less than an arm's length apart, their bodies twin tense columns.

From her viewpoint, Mor saw Nesta's face clearly but not Cassian's and only the side of his clenched jaw was visible. She imagined his expression though; one of irritation that his peace had been broken by the viper.

But he's been waiting for someone. The thought stole into her mind unwanted and once again, she shut it down. Yes, she countered, and now Nesta's presence will deter them.

The morning breeze picked up past Mor and though gentle was effective in blowing the fragrance away. It was though the fog filling her brain had cleared.

The grip around her had loosened enough for Mor to take a lightened half step forward.

The snipping stopped.

"Where are you going?"

Mor turned her head. Despite the wholesome innocence on her face with those delicate freckles and warm brown eyes Mor considered if she was a fool thinking Elain was harmless. The magic enveloping her been called forward and it felt like it had been summoned with intent.

"I think," Mor said, "you know where."

"Are you wanting to interrupt Cassian and Nesta?" Elain said with wide eyes and a tilt to her head, her tone conveying nothing but virtuous concern.  
Mor frowned. The obliviousness to what Cassian was due to suffer in the next moments must have been fabricated. The level of vitriol that seeped from Nesta couldn't have bypassed Elain for the entirety of her life but those fawn eyes didn't convey anything other than curiosity.

"Yes, I am."

"Why?"

The laugh barked from Mor's mouth before she stopped it. Human's and fae alike had sheltered Elain from the truth and ultimately this had enabled her naivety as to what her oldest sister was truly like. This was an illusion Mor had no joy in shattering but shatter it she must.

"Why?" Mor repeated. "Why? It's Nesta." Perhaps saying her name with rancour would convey to Elain her outrage at being kept back from helping her dearest friend. "I can't leave poor Cassian with her."

It was so quick that had Mor not been looking directly at Elain she would have doubted she ever saw it occur. Gone in a flash but in that flash, the warm chestnut of Elain's eyes turned hard and any trace of gentleness perished leaving behind something more familiar with Nesta herself.

When Elain spoke next, her tone was as sweet as the Night Lilies which bloomed outside Velaris but possibly just as poisonous. She'd turned her back to Mor, resuming her small precise cuts along the stems, the thick unrelenting scent wafting anew.

Mor's head began to hurt again, the fragrance choking down her throat. It was so hard to move in this garden, to think, to breathe.

"Yes, poor Cassian," Elain trilled. "The vicious General of the Night Court armies and renowned Lord of Bloodshed. He who has completed the Blood Rite of the Illyrian mountains, burnt villages to the ground and massacred hundreds, if not thousands, of males in the name of Rhys' wars."

Snip.

"My heart goes to him. He only has wings, leathers, knives, centuries of training and seven siphons. How can such a male be expected to survive my weapon-less sister."

Slice.

Mor struggled to force the words out as they twisted inside her mind like vines. "She carries a weapon with her," Mor retorted, "it just sits in her mouth."

" I'm sure Cassian is used to her tongue by now."

Well, that gave her pause.

Not only the words but the way they were said. Sweet, gentle Elain who had led her away from Cassian, Elain who had taken her to the roses where she worked magic so strong Mor struggled in its depths. Elain who said things in such a way which meant Mor hadn't known she'd been stung until she had to pull the stinger out.  
The unsaid truth had been trying to creep its way in. Mor had tried to wave them away but truth was Mor's gift and these had always been Mor's own thoughts. She just didn't want to believe them.

She looked back towards Cassian but immediately regretted it. Perhaps Elain, sweet, manipulative Elain who Mor had always thought too soft, had led her away for Nesta's benefit or perhaps it had always been for Mor's.

Even if the magic lifted, Mor wouldn't have moved, too horrifically eager to watch the scene unfurl in front of her.

Cassian and Nesta had shifted and now she saw both their faces.

They were talking, if it could be called that. Scowls lined their faces and their hands gestured wildly. If it was an argument, it was an impassioned one and Mor fought the compulsion to ask Elain if she knew what they were fighting about.

The breeze which carried Elain's magic away for the briefest of moments had drifted across to the pair and a strand of Nesta's hair was freed from its coronet to dance about her face.

It seemed an automatic move on Cassian's part. He reached out and tucked the strand behind Nesta's ear, his fingers lingering on the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheekbone before pulling away.

The earlier expression on Elain's face, the one that appeared like lighting and disappeared, the one which reminded Mor of Nesta now happened in reverse.

In the seconds following Cassian's touch, Nesta's face softened into something fragile. Mor understood from his face that instead of shock at such a tender look, Cassian hungered for it.

"Elain," Mor spoke quietly, "release me."

"If I do, you can't go over." Elain held a golden rose to her freckled nose and took an exalted inhale. "It's unfortunate you found out like this; Cassian wouldn't have wanted it this way." A long sigh left Elain's lips, "No one comes into the garden."

The suspicion had turned itself into certainty at Elain's statement. This meeting between Cassian and Nesta was no anomaly.

The tightening in her chest, unrelated to the roses whose fragrance now dissipated, showed her fear. There was the possibility she was no longer the dearest thing to Cassian.

Shame burnt in her cheeks. She'd been certain his strangeness was because he'd fallen back in love with her, that he pined for her and the humiliation she'd considered that an option made her skin hot.

Elain scrutinised Mor's face. Mor could pretend she was concerned for her best friend's emotional welfare, that he would be left to romance a female who gave out cutting remarks and acid glances as easily as she breathed. Mor's magic whispered to her again; liar.

And here was Elain, looking at her as though she could see right through.

"You love him," Elain said.

"Of course, I do," she replied.

"But you aren't in love with him, you never have been. You don't love him like a lover would, like a mate." The golden rose twirled in Elain's fingertips and with the motion the thickness of the flowers, of Elain's magic, drift off. Finally.

The love Cassian and her had for each other was never a love blessed by the Cauldron and neither of them wanted it to be. However, it didn't mean she wasn't shaken by seeing Cassian and Nesta together, that despite the virulence of their argument there were sweeter moments between.

She thought back to all the times she'd pointed out females he would then ignore. He wouldn't glance at them, couldn't glance at them. Mor and Cassian were cut from the same cloth, if a link existed between him and another then Cassian would want to honour it as it should be honoured.

The solid ground on which Mor had built her world was shifting.

Mor didn't move.

She could have marched over to the secret lovers and demand her answers. She could play her hand, give Cassian his choice and, as he always chose her, win the deck. Cassian's eyes would fill with panic as she begged him to choose between a potential future and a confirmed past.

Part of her wanted to do all those things, there was a chance she may yet.

Still, she didn't move.

"He doesn't want me to know," she said, her voice quiet, "at least not at the moment. If he did, he would have told me."

Elain's voice was kind when she spoke. "He'll tell you when he thinks you're ready to hear it."

Mor could have tried to convince Elain she was ready but instead found herself saying something different.

"I just don't understand it."

Elain glanced in the direction of Cassian and Nesta, a smile lingering on her lips. "Because you don't see them."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Mor looked over at them again. Loose petals floated down upon their heads from the earlier breeze and it almost softened Nesta's appearance. Almost.

Mor saw Nesta reach up towards Cassian's face and she braced herself for the crack of the slap. But of course, that wasn't what happened. Nesta's fingers began to sweep the petals caught on his hair and as she pulled her hand away Cassian grasped it, turning it over to press his mouth on Nesta's palm.  
The blush blooming on Nesta's cheeks made Mor think she was looking at another female entirely. The angles and ridges of Nesta's hard face softened and the nervous energy rippling through Cassian's frame disappared leaving behind a male radiating ease.

They were still talking but their words were too quiet for her to hear. Whatever they discussed must have ended in agreement as they turned and walked together down a different path, one Mor hadn't seen.

"If you're wanting to follow them," Elain said, "I would really suggest you don't. There's a hidden cottage in the garden. I was so pleased when I was the first to have found it." Elain pulled a face reminiscent of the expression on Feyre's when she ate something unpleasant. "Then I realised I wasn't the first to have found it at all."

"I don't follow."

"Exactly."

"No, I mean I don't understand."

Elain looked at her with a smile closer to a smirk. "I share a room with Nesta," she said, "and you're always skipping off into Cassian's in the morning so where do you think they cemented things."

Mor's stomach coiled, "Ugh, yes fine. I understand."

Elain let out a giggle. "They hadn't intended for me to find out either but I love Nesta and I won't judge her choices." Elain let out a sigh. "I know she can be sharp but it doesn't mean she deserves her heart to be broken. But I do trust Cassian, I made him promise the roses."

Mor watched Elain stretch out her hand, splashed with tawny freckles, and caress the petals of a rose before plucking it. She eyed Elain with caution.

Elain turned to her, the rose in hand. "You'll do the right thing," she said and held out the flower. "When I was human, I was a gardener. The Cauldron couldn't take that - I wouldn't let it. I'm not sorry for keeping you here but I'm sorry for how the magic made you feel - like you couldn't breathe. It was like that in the Cauldron."

A stillness crept onto Elain's face and all expression melted away. "It still feels like that for the both of us sometimes," Elain continued, "that we can't breathe. That we're still floating in the dark waiting to drown."

There was nothing. Elain slipped into the blankness with ease the same way Nesta slid into her rage. She wondered if her anger was what Cassian helped her with, if he also held Nesta's heart securely in his hands and guarded it with his life.

Mor reached out for the rose, lightly touching Elain's fingers with her own. Elain shook herself from her own mind and smiled at her, the first genuine one Mor had seen all morning.

"It will have to be another day when you can have an honest conversation with Cassian." Elain's reached with soft fingertips and glided them delicately over Mor's cheek. "You can talk to him about Nesta and perhaps tell him about Aurielle too?"  
It took her a moment until the realisation hit her but while Mor blinked in shock, Elain had already walked off, far from the path Cassian and Nesta had taken.

Mor traced Elain's touch with her own fingers trying to be just as gentle. She thought of how the magic had led her to the garden, how she wanted to share blossoming love with someone.

Maybe, she thought, she shouldn't covet those she loved so selfishly. There was enough love to share between more than one. 

With a promise to herself she would address all this another day, Mor tucked the flower behind her ear and walked back here she came from, wondering to herself whether she now liked roses.


End file.
